


Falling Pieces Into Place

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Infidelity, M/M, Pre-Series, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dad never did go missing, Dean never did go to Sam, and Jess never did die. That doesn’t mean Dean will never go back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Pieces Into Place

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue was inspired by the pilot episode. Set six months after the pilot episode, in a (slightly) canon divergent AU.

There are some things Dean never lets himself forget. How to hunt is highest on the list, followed by the subsections of sharp-shooting, gun cleaning, and how to hustle someone out of fifty bucks in poker or pool. After that there's driving, though he thinks that could be fitted into one of the above bullet parts. Okay, so mostly it's all hunting that takes up the largest chunk of Dean's brain.  
  
The rest of it is Sam.  
  
"Look after Sammy," is the earliest recall Dean has of his father's voice. His earliest memory is carrying Sam out of their burning house, feeling the heat of flames licking at his body and the sound of woodwork crumbling. Then he seems to black out for the next few years, until he's awake in a motel room with Sam wanting to last of the Lucky Charms. Even though he knows, without a doubt, they're Dean's favourites.  
  
So when Sam leaves him and Dad for Stanford, Dean's fierce in keeping those memories intact. He doesn't go the journal route like Dad. He's more interested in recreation and mulling — the latter learnt from Sam, he decides, because it's still not in Dean's nature to be a brooding, emo teen. Mulling is easy, but nowhere near as satisfying, and Dean is downright terrified he might lose something and not even know it. Recreation, at least, offers something closer to certainty.  
  
The first person he fucks after Sam leaves is a guy he finds in a skeevy bar. He knows there's as much chance of being killed as there is of getting a lay, but maybe that's part of it. Lately, Dean's been having a hard time trying to find reasons to keep living.  
  
He doesn't die. He doesn't get bashed. He doesn't even get turned down when he throws back a beer, catches sight of someone he decides is acceptable, and lays on whatever charm he can muster up. Ten minutes later he's blowing the guy in the back alley and trying to pretend it's Sam.  
  
Yeah. Recreation might be better, but it still doesn't come even closer.  
  
\---  
  
Every time he doesn't have a hunt, Dean drives through California. He's never looking for Sam and he knows Sam would never want to see him. After a while he thinks he knows California better than any other state in America, especially the bars and clubs he ends up spending hours in every night.  
  
Even if he wasn't interested in a hook-up he thinks he'd still do it. It lets him forget. For a few hours he's allowed to lose himself in obnoxious music, drink things that are pink and girl and oh so Sam-like, and if he gets a chance to fuck someone then it's an added bonus. The ultimate bonus is getting to fuck someone who reminds him of Sam, but they're far and few between when Sam's Sam and nobody else has ever come even close.  
  
It's during on such trips to California that Dean picks up a local paper. Dad's on a hunt in Nebraska and Dean's too tired to go with him. Besides, he's still trying to hide the fact he told Cassie about what they do. He tried to take a page out of Sam's book, to live normally, and failed. Now he's licking wounds and maybe if he finds his own hunt, things will be square again. That's when he sees it.

 

_Jessica Lee Moore  
&  
Sam Winchester  
are pleased to announce their engagement_

Who the fucks is Jessica?  


 

\---

Dean has to know who Jessica is. He can't go back to the life he's trying to continue without knowing. Dad's calls are incessant now, scattered with text messages of  _Where are you?_ or  _Dean. Call me_. He's disabled the GPS and would ditch the phone if this weren't the last number he's sure Sam has. If Sam hasn't deleted it. Dean doesn't entertain that thought for long.

 

September. That's only four months away. Sam's jumping the gun quickly, and Dean thinks he knows why. That need to be normal, to be  _safe_ , even. Sam pressed against him after that first night, jumping when there were any sounds because they both knew it only took one second for John to walk in and ruin this, and Sam had whispered, "This isn't safe." Dean had pulled him closer, told him to shut up and go to sleep.

It's the freak label, too. The one Sam's always lived with, always despised. He probably tried to throw it away the moment he crossed the California state line while Dean keeps embracing it. Being a freak — being a  _hunter_ — is the only purpose he has left now that Sam's not around. Sam instead has gone with normal, the only thing he ever wanted in the world.

Dean, being the the jerkass older brother, has to be the one to break it.

He goes to the college and announces himself as a cop. From there, finding Sam is remarkably easy. He's studying law and lives off campus, in a house with Jessica about ten minutes away from the college. He makes it there in less than five but parks around the corner and tells his hands to stop shaking and his chest to stop burning. Dean's not that pathetic. He's not going to run away. He takes a breath, puts a gun into his waistband, and steps out into the sunny street.

It's another ten minutes before his feet get moving and he actually rounds the corner, but no one's counting.

There aren't many cars, but it is the middle of the day. For all Dean knows Sam has classes, but it's too late to turn back now. He'll knock, find out, and go from there. It's not like he's planning to leave the state any time soon, no matter what happens. He's decided he deserves a break and will wait for a hunt to come to him. He could visit the beach or something, take up the childhood he's never had.

When he sees the house it's like the summation of everything Sam wanted — all that's missing is the white-picket fence. It takes Dean a long while to decide if he should walk up to the door, knock, and ruin the normal life Sam's tried to build. Of course he does it. Dean's always been selfish. He knocks twice, then shoves his hands into his pockets and waits. His chest is still too tight, but he swallows down and tries to ignore it. He's almost ready to turn around when he hears the sound of the deadbolt snapping, the door swinging open, and a blonde woman standing there.

She smiles, wary. "Sorry. If you're selling something, I'm not—"

Dean sticks out a hand and stops her from closing the door. "Are you Jessica Moore?"

"Yeah." She nods. Her hands don't leave the door. "Who are you?"

Logically he should go with the cop rouse. He lost logic these last few years. "I'm Dean Winchester."

There's nothing more than confusion on the woman's face. So Sam never told her anything. It feels like a kick to Dean's gut and he clenches his fingers harder into the door just to stay upright.

"You're Sam's brother?" she asks quietly.

Dean doesn't know if she's come to that conclusion from the surnames or if his own conclusions were wrong. It doesn't really matter. She still has no idea who he is. "Yeah." He catches sight of her ring as the small diamond glitters in the sunlight. "You're Sammy's fiancée."

"Do you want to come in?" She pulls the door open further and Dean lets go. His hands are shaking again, he shoves them back into his pockets. "Sam's at class. Do you want some tea?"

 _Tea. Sam's fiancée has blonde hair, blue eyes, and drinks tea._

"Or coffee," she adds quickly. "Just. You should come in. Sam'll be home soon, I know he'd love to see you."

Right. Dean's sure the same person who's final words were along the lines of "fuck you" wants to see Dean again. What's he still doing here? He's seen Jess, the woman his brother has apparently fallen head-over-heels for. There's nothing more he needs, not from her and definitely not from Sam.

"Don't worry about it." Dean steps away. "Nice meeting you."

\---

He doesn't leave California that weekend and isn't sure why. Only that he also ignores all calls from Dad and instead he hauls himself up in a motel six where he listens to the people in the other room having sex with their bed pounding against the wall. After failing to block it out, he turns it into another attempt to re-live what he's been missing. Like being able to spend one night with Sam before Sam suddenly announced he was leaving on a Greyhound the next day.

If Dean concentrates — oh, who the fuck's he kidding? He doesn't  _need_ to concentrate — he can still remember everything. The first time he thinks  _fuck it_ and goes forward, yanks Sam's mouth down to his, and kisses all the words of hatred out of him. Dean should have figured something out then, when Sam wouldn't stop bitching constantly about Dad, but he ignored it. He always ignored what he couldn't stand. Deep down Dean would have known, always would have known, but living in a constant state of denial helped him work up the courage to push Sam onto the bed and rip off his clothes. Completely wordless, the entire night. Except for when Sam looped an arm around Dean's shoulders, brought his lips to his ear, and gave a broken, "Dean".

  
Dean's never going to get tired of jerking off to that image. Ever. He tugs down his zipper and pushes his jeans down far enough to free his already half-hard cock. Closing his eyes, the bed thumping from next door becomes almost rhythmic. He doesn't remember any other sounds from with Sam — maybe there were none — but they could have had another chance, another night. When Dad wasn't two rooms away and Dean wasn't so sure he'd walk in on them at any minute. They'd get their own place, stop hunting if that's all Sam asked for. Be together.

Dean palms his cock faster and imagines Sam's. Dean sucking him off too fast, terrified of being caught. The look in Sam's eyes, though, was the most remarkable thing Dean had ever seen. Half-hooded and staring at him in awe. Until that exact moment, Dean had been almost certain the sex was all for him. That Sam felt nothing. Sure, Sam still left, but Dean knows there was something —  _is_ something.

The pounding on the wall picks up and all Dean can imagine is Sam fucking him. Properly this time. Dean doesn't even care how it happens, so long as it does. Sam against him. Sam  _inside_ him. He just wants to find some way to be completely surrounded by Sam, and he'd be happy. He'd never need anything else.

He's so close and just needs something more. Sam, mostly. All he thinks about now is needing Sam. And then his mind flashes to the next room, to the bed, and all he can see is Sam fucking a woman. Sam fucking that Jessica girl he left Dean for.

The orgasm really isn't worth it.

\---

At some point later, the bed stops pounding and Dean falls into an exhausted sleep. He dreams about something, but he can't remember what, and wakes with a start. He goes for the knife under his pillow before he realises it's knocking at the door. Then a voice. "Dean! I know you're in there." Dean's fingers clench into the rough cotton sheets instead.

"Dean, if you don't open the fucking door I'll kick it down."

Why the hell can't anyone else out there hear him yelling?

Dean gets up out of bed and slowly walks toward the door. He doesn't want to open it. Not after he told himself he can't. He can want and imagine and recreate all he wants, but he can't face the truth. His hand has other ideas and is unlocking the door and twisting the handle open before he's even thought it through. Of course Sam's standing there, and of course Dean's filled with anger before anything else. He goes to prove that, but Sam cuts in first.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asks in a harsh whisper.

"Better question for you, buddy."

"No." Sam's whole body is rigid. "In California, Dean. Don't tell me you're on a hunt, don't bullshit me. What the hell are you doing here?"

Dean doesn't know what he's supposed to say because he  _doesn't_  really know why he's here. Beyond learning who Jessica is, and he figured that out earlier today. He ignores Sam's question and asks instead, "How did you find me?"

"Jim Rockford," Sam says. Dean tries a smirk. Sam doesn't budge. "So don't tell me you didn't want me to find you. There's dozens of other TV cops, and you pick him."

The words roll into lead that stick in Dean's stomach. He wasn't even thinking of that when he booked in. "Not the first motel in the yellow pages." It's about the fifth. The cheapest.

"Stop it." Sam takes a step closer. Dean thinks he's grown over the past two years, and Dean also can't believe it's been that long. Over that, actually; it'd be coming up three years since Sam said his final fuck you. "I want to know why you're here.  _Is_ there a hunt?"

He should say yes. His mind tells him to say yes. "No."

"Then what?" Sam's softened, his eyes actually showing some form of emotion. But it's not the same awe-struck emotion he had while Dean sucked his cock, so Dean doesn't want to see it.

"Nothing. I'm heading to Nebraska in the morning. Actually..." Dean throws a look back into the motel room and the bright numbers of the bedside clock read four twenty-three. "It is morning. I'll be leaving."

Rather than wait around for more questions, Dean turns and grabs his duffel. He'd hardly unpacked, just the knife and a jacket he'd thrown over a battered chair. He throws them inside and zips it up, all the while not looking at his brother. His eyes catch sight of the paper sitting on the small table and he snatches it up.

"Oh." Sam's voice comes low and soft from behind Dean. Dean hears the door click closed. "You saw it, didn't you?"

Dean's chest clenches. "I got no idea what you're talking about."

"Dean..."

Dean turns around. "So how's college? Was expecting a call or text or, hell, a handwritten fucking letter. Nothing. So how about you take the time to tell me now, huh? Lots of parties? Lots of hookups?"

Sam, he doesn't say anything. He stands there with his arms folded and his eyes on Dean. That just raises Dean's anger.

"Yeah, okay? I saw it! You finally get the life you wanted, Sammy. I'm happy for you."

Sam's hands slowly uncross and fall limp at his sides. "You don't have to be happy."

"My little brother's getting married," Dean says. His voice is dripping in bitterness and even he can hear it. He thinks he might even be able to taste it, the bile on his tongue. "Of course I do."

"Jess says you met her." A quiet voice now, as if all the anger has fizzled out and filled Dean instead. Dean would prefer yelling. He can't deal with this kind of Sam. "Did you come to see me?"

Then he realises he's got no anger left, either. He's tired. "Why else would I be here?"

That seems to be the answer Sam was searching for. He closes the short space between them and cups Dean's cheek. They're not allowed to do this. They weren't allowed to the  _first time_ , actually. Dean always forgets. They're brothers. Now Sam is with Jess and they're not allowed to do it even more, but Sam's hand is incessant, forces Dean to look him in the eye. It doesn't matter. It never has.

Sam's lips are still soft. He still has the same taste. His hands are still vice-like grips when they take hold of Dean's shoulders and force him back toward the bed. So they're going to do this. He's going to get the only thing he wants. Only now that's it reality it doesn't feel as good as he thinks it should.

It starts wordless again, but Dean keeps watching Sam's eyes and Sam's hardly waver from his. His pupils are blown huge, Dean can see that even if the room is almost entirely dark except for the faint fluorescent street light seeping through the window. Dean runs a hand through Sam's hair. He has a longer fringe, falling into his eyes. But it all still feels the same, familiar enough that Dean can push away the knowledge that Sam's supposed to be getting married in a few months. It's just him and Sam. Like it was always supposed to be.

Sam's hand goes up Dean's shirt, spanning across his stomach and then up to his chest. Clinging almost, fingertips grazing and Dean doesn't care. He hopes there'll be marks. At least that means something, proof they had this. Dean's mouth finds Sam's neck, but when Sam whispers "careful", it all comes hurtling back. They're not supposed to do this. He freezes and lets Sam pull off his shirt then go for his jeans. Sam's mouth is allowed to not be careful, allowed to find Dean's neck and suck hard enough that it starts to hurt and there'll be a bruise. Dean's not going home to anyone who'll care.

"Sam," he's saying without really being aware of it. A soft sound out into the quiet. "Sam. Sam."

"Yeah." Sam's mouth moves up to Dean's ear. One hand stays on Dean's hip.

He wonders how much time they're allowed to have for this. When Sam has a girlfriend —  _fiancée_ — waiting for him at home. With tea. Fucking tea. He's still not over that. Dean lifts his hips when Sam's hands start pulling, lets his jeans and boxers be taken away. Long enough to do this. Whatever  _this_ is going to be. It's taking longer than last time, he'll give it that. It's what he wanted.

He hears Sam suck in a breath, watches his eyes go side-to-side, up-and-down on Dean's body. "Why didn't you let me?"

 _(Sham's hand going down to brush his cock, Dean shaking his head and kissing his brother instead. Can't risk Dad. Can't do it)._

"Letting you now."

Dean takes Sam's wrist and spreads his knees, guiding Sam's hand closer until two of his fingers slide across Dean's hole. He takes in a shuddering breath and Sam does it again, without prompting this time. He pushes one finger in dry and there's a burn, but not anything Dean's going to pull away. He knows all too well that a bit of pain means the same tomorrow and the memories that'll come with it. At least this time they'll all be memories of Sam, not some sorry excuse for him.

Sam's finger comes out and Dean definitely doesn't make some kind of whine along with it.  "There's lube in my bag," Dean says. Always come prepared.

Sam shakes his head and drops his mouth to Dean's chest. Wet, open mouthed kisses that move lower and lower until his chin bumps Dean's erection. There's a single moment of their eyes meeting before Sam's mouth closes over his cock. Dean's head falls back into the hard pillow, and he has to keep himself from thrusting up into his baby brother's mouth. His fingers dig into the sheets and his toes curl. When he manages to half-sit up again, Sam's looking at him through too-thick eyelashes and those long bangs Dean wants to cut away. He takes his hand and twists it into his brother's hair, forcing his mouth up, up, until they're kissing. Sam's mouth is salty, Dean's mind too stupid for a moment to realise he's tasting himself. He licks the taste away until it's just Sam, breath warm and not tasting like anything in particular but it's still the best thing Dean's tongue has ever touched.

"You're gonna come for me," Sam says, breaking away. "In my mouth."

Dean's mouth goes dry and he doesn't stop Sam for moving back down his body to finish what he's started, wet lips stretching over Dean's slick cock and bobbing once, twice, before Dean can't hold off any longer and he does just what Sam wants. Sam's mouth keeps moving until Dean can't stand it any more and brings their mouths back together. More salt that Dean kisses and licks away.

Dean reaches down between them, tears at the zipper of Sam's jeans, and finds Sam's cock with the palm of his hand. Sam's hard, leaking precome, and he lets out a groan between them when Dean's thumb flicks over his slit. The pumps his brother's cock quickly, too messy, but Sam has no complaints when he gasps and spills over Dean's hand.

He pulls his hand free. His chest is tight like he can't get quite enough air inside to make his lungs stop burning. Even his stomach feels tight, and it clenches when Sam moves to lie beside him. So close and hot against Dean's side.

"Wanted to do that since the first time," Sam says. He lets out a heavy breath against Dean's neck. It's warm but makes him shiver. "God. Dreamed about it."

 _That makes two of us_. "Shouldn't you get back to your girlfriend?"

He feels Sam tense briefly, then slide his hand over Dean's stomach. His leg soon moves as well, draping over both of Dean's and pulling his body closer. "I'm with friends." He kisses behind Dean's ear. "Not due back until tomorrow morning."

The clenching in his body draws tighter. Dean feels so on edge. "Going to see your brother wasn't excuse enough?"

"Dean." Sam nuzzles against his neck. "Come on."

"Yeah." Dean lets out a long, low rush of breath and runs a hand through his hair. "I know."

\---

When Dean wakes up the next morning, it's sans brother. The side of the queen bed is still warm and Dean rolls onto it, pressing his face into the pillow and catching a smell of Sam's fruity, girly shampoo then, under all of that, just  _Sam_. Dean can't find it for long and eventually resigns himself to the fact it's as gone as the body it came from. At least he knows where Sam is. He knows that Sam is safe and loved and going okay. That's all Dean really needs, right?

He coughs back the heat prickling in his eyes and goes to take a shower before shoving his discarded clothes into his duffel. There's really no point being here anymore, Sam having left and all. When he walks he can still feel the memory of last night, but only vaguely. The slightest of burns, but his mind is elsewhere. Sam's getting married. His brother is getting married. Dean has to get that through his thick head and go back to his own life. Dad's going to be pissed when Dean meets up with him again, he should probably give him a call.

Though before he can pull out his phone, it starts ringing. He doesn't recognise the number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dean. I didn't wake you did I?" He thinks he recognises the woman's voice on the other end, but his mind is drawing a blank in the visuals department.

"Who is this?"

"Oh, sorry." She laughs softly. "It's Jessica...Moore."

His mind draws up an image now, of a blonde haired woman standing at a door. It tries to lodge Sam in there too — images of them kissing,  _fucking_ — but he doesn't let it happen. "Oh, Jessica. Uh...hi?"

"I'm sorry for calling you out of the blue." She sure seems to like apologising a lot. "But. Well, Sam said you knew about our engagement?"

Dean has to swallow over the lump in his throat.  _Did Sam also tell you he and I fucked last night?_ "Ye—Yeah. Congratulations."

"I was wondering if you'd like to be part of the wedding. I know Sam would love to have you here."

Dean slumps down to the bed. He can just see it now. Her in a big white dress, Sam in a monkey suit, walking down a long aisle with hundreds of guests. Dean sitting there, having to watch it happen and having no way to stop it.

"I'm sure Sam's told you about my job."

"You're mechanic, right?"

Old and trusted lie. He shouldn't be surprised that Sam went with it. "Something like that. And I'm not in California for long. Definitely not in September."

"Oh." He wonders if she'd sound that upset if she knew the whole story. He wonders if she'll ever learn about monsters and things that go bump in the night. He wonders if Sam will give it all away forever. "Well we would still love to have you as a guest."

She's reaching, and Dean decides to throw her out a line. "I'm sure I can make it for the day." He knows there's no enthusiasm in his voice, but he just can't muster it up.

"Thanks. I—I'll let you go. Nice talking to you, Dean."

"Yeah."

He hangs up, doesn't care about etiquette, and goes into his phonebook. Dad will be hunting something somewhere and he's always up for help. He scrolls to his father's name, but his thumb hesitates on the green call button. This is it. If he leaves Sam gets the apple-pie life. If he stays...well, he could always try to fuck it up. Because Dean is an asshole. A selfish asshole.

He goes into his call log instead, finds Jessica's unlisted number and sends her a simple message:  _Know what? Sign me up as best man._

He'll deal with the regrets later.

\---

He was wrong about the guest list. Jess sits him down at her and Sam's dining room table, gives him expensive-tasting coffee, and says her and Sam will be walking down the aisle with twenty guests watching in a rose garden. A rose garden. All of it will be happening at 2 pm on September 15. Dean doesn't get why he's here now.

"Would you be interested in being best man?" she asks. "Sam hasn't asked anyone, but I think he'd like it to be you."  
  
Dean twists the coffee mug in his hands. "Should probably ask Sam first."  
  
"I will tonight." Her own mug comes to rest on the table. "He talks about you a lot, you know?"  
  
Dean doesn't let himself perk up at something stupid like that. "Yeah?"  
  
Jess makes a sound of agreement. "For as long as I've known him. You guys had an interesting childhood."  
  
_Which doesn't mean she knows_ , Dean has to remind himself. Sam always made the most elaborate stories. Dean probably isn't even the same character in Sam's fantastical fiction. "Yeah, interesting's one word for it."  
  
He goes back to the mug with hearts all over and no chips. It's a change from the stained white mugs that cut his lips from cheap motels. He takes another sip, it's still hot, and watches as Jess mulls over several sheets of paper she's stuck magazine cut-outs onto. Inspiration boards, she said. Dean can't imagine Sam subscribing to something like that.  
  
It's then that he hears a key in the door — Jess locked it when she came in, Dean knows Sam would make her — and Sam's footfalls that Dean thinks he could pick out anywhere. "Hey, Jess," Sam calls.  
  
Dean's not even sure if he's supposed to be here now, but Jess smiles at him and stands while Dean turns in his seat and watches his brother walk into the room. Sam's eyes find him immediately. They grow wide.  
  
"Hey, baby." Jess kisses Sam's cheek. She's the perfect height for him. Dean chews on the inside of his cheek. "How was class?"  
  
Sam blinks before ripping his eyes away from Dean's. "Fine. Good. What...?" His gaze shoots back to Dean.  
  
"We're getting married and you didn't think to ask your brother to be your best man." She sounds very matter-of-fact about that. Dean thinks she'd have nowhere near the same tone if she knew the whole story. "So I took the liberty and did it for you."  
  
Dean isn't positive about what Sam's thinking, but he sees his brother's mind ticking over. "Dean won't—"  
  
"Sure I will, Sammy." Dean puts on the fakest smile he can manage. He stands and slaps Sam's arm. He ignoes the current that snaps between them. "Would be an honour."  
  
He's not sure if Jess is playing naive or just not paying attention, but she shoots Dean another smile. "I'm glad."  
  
So Sam gets no say in anything. Selfish brother is back in action.  
  
"Anyway, I got some cars to attend to." He gives Sam a very pointed look, considering he's put on the ruse of mechanic and all, and Sam should understand. "Want to get on the road before it's dark. I'm heading to Nebraska."  
  
Dad's probably long gone from there by now, but maybe Sam will still get it. He sees his brother's mouth quirk.  
  
"Nebraska?" Jess says. "I've never heard of a travelling mechanic."  
  
"That's why us Winchesters are the best, never out've work," Dean says, watching Sam the whole time. Sam glares at him. He's actually curious as to where his home base is supposed to be. He hopes Sam picked Kansas. "I'll see you guys around."  
  
Dean lets himself out quickly, not interested in the possibility of more small talk. He's almost at the end of the street before he hears someone jogging coming after him, recognises it as Sam, and slows to a stop.  
  
"What do you want?" Dean asks. He look at Sam.

"You."  
  
Dean can't stop himself from giving a sharp, bitter laugh and slowly turning around. "Yeah, sure you do. That's why you're getting married."  
  
"No." Sam shakes his head and slides his tongue over his bottom lip. "I love Jess."  
  
The clenching in his gut is back. "Then why the fuck are you out here?"  
  
Sam takes a step forward and reaches out a hand. Dean doesn't budge and it drops back down. "I love you, too."  
  
"This isn't surf n' turf, Sammy. You can't have both."  
  
_Why?_ is unsaid between them, but Dean answers anyway.  
  
"You can live this life with your girl. Be some big, hotshot lawyer. Fine. But I can't be that, and I don't think your wife will accept the big, gay, incestuous love affair you're involved in."  
  
"You can accept  _her_."  
  
Sam doesn't get it, and they're out here discussing this whole thing on a street lined with white-picket fences and flowerbeds. Two doors down there's a wading pool and a swing-set.  
  
"Don't ask me to do that, Sam," Dean says. "Don't ask me to lie any more than I have to."  
  
Sam swallows, his Adam's apple working overtime. When he looks up toward the sun Dean sees tears shining in his brother's eyes. He never wants to be responsible for putting them there, but Sam isn't giving him much choice.  
  
"If you want me at your wedding, I'll be there," he says. "But that's it. That has to be it."  
  
" _Why?_ " Now it's out, loud enough that Dean knows a few neighbours will hear it if they're the type to be at home in the mid-morning of a Tuesday.  
  
"I just told you." Dean looks away. He can't keep doing this. "Grow up, Sam. You always wanted everything. You can't have that."  
  
With that, Dean turns and leaves.  
  
\---  
  
Dean doesn't call Dad. He doesn't even make his way to Nebraska. Instead he finds himself renting out the same motel room for another night and hitting one of the local clubs. No shitting around, straight to one filled with sweating male bodies and thumping house music. He doesn't think he'll ever fit in here, but it still gives him what he needs. Now he has a new image to recreate, and he intends to embed it into his whole body over and over again until it's ingrained forever.

He's taken to ordering shots of vodka, which seems a safe enough option. It doesn't get snickers like beer and he's so not ready to go for Martinis. Dean still fits in at biker bars and diners better than gay nightclubs, but he's willing to adapt. It doesn't even take him long to meet eyes with someone across the dance floor. A few seconds later he's getting a drink bought for him by Ray who comes from Texas and is visiting his cousin.  
  
"Nothing like this down south," he says, throwing back a shot and shaking his head.  
  
Dean's inclined to agree. He looks back out over the dance floor, at the spinning disco ball and flashing lights. A year ago he'd never be caught dead here. Hell, he never would have given these places a passing thought. But after you fuck your brother, perceptions change.  
  
"Are you from Palo Alto?" Ray asks.  
  
"Nah," he has to yell to get his voice heard above the even louder song that's started up. "Visiting family."  
  
Dean swears to god, he's never going through small-talk again considering how much he's been forced to endure it today. He turns back to Ray and shuffles closer. Whatever Ray's started to say is cut off mid-sentence when Dean reaches out and and squeezes his thigh.  
  
"Was wondering where you got to."  
  
Dean's hand snatches back and he has to close his eyes. He's just imagining the voice, recreation finally moving into psychosis and leaving him crazy. It's not altogether surprising. Then a hand drops to his shoulder and Dean turns around. Sam's standing right there.  
  
"I leave you alone for ten minutes." He leans down and drops a quick kiss to Dean's lips. Dean's too stunned to say or do anything.  
  
When he gets it together again and looks back around, Ray's gone. Sam's hand slides around his shoulder, whole body pressed to Dean's side, until he's sitting on Ray's abandoned seat and the hand has moved to rest remarkably high on Dean's leg.  
  
There's only one explanation that comes to Dean's mind. "So infidelity's your new thing, huh? Cheating on Jess with all the guys in Cali?"  
  
"Saw the card in your motel room. Wanted to try my luck." Sam leans over and any space between them has been almost entirely removed. "Never took you as the gay club type."  
  
"Why are you even here?"  
  
"You." The space is completely gone as Sam kisses his way up Dean's neck. "Never been anyone but you."  
  
All Dean wants to do is fall into the feeling of Sam's tongue swirling against his neck, but he also knows this is just a repeat of this morning. He pushes Sam back with both palms flat against his chest.  
  
"You love Jess," he reminds his brother.  
  
Sam doesn't answer with words, but his hand moves the rest of the way up to cup over Dean's crotch. He moves in slow circles until Dean's biting down on his lip and yanks Sam out of the club, out into the cold night air, and around the back to near where he's parked the Impala. Sam shoves him up against the hard brickwork and all but attacks his mouth with short, deep kisses. He bites down at one point and Dean tastes his own blood flecked against his tongue. Sam moans and the sound goes straight to Dean's cock, making it strain painfully from beneath the denim.  
  
Sam gets it right away, a hand down Dean's pants and a grin in the smile. "You were looking for this."  
  
"Why the fuck else would I come to a club?"  
  
For whatever reason that does something to Sam and he grabs Dean's wrists, pinning them together up above his head and using his feet to twist Dean until he's got his back to Sam and cheek pressed against the icy bricks. They're going to do this. Sam is finally going to fuck him, and Dean about to come in his pants from that thought alone.  
  
"Do you fuck them?" Sam asks. His breath is hot against Dean's other cheek. "Or let them fuck you?"  
  
Dean wants to say  _both_. To make Sam realise everything he's missing out on by being with Jessica. He could have had anything with Dean. Dean would have given him everything.  
  
"Just suck their cocks," Dean says instead. He knows Sam gets it, that he remembers and puts two and two together. Especially when Dean adds, "Would've let Ray suck my dick tonight."  
  
"You never...?"  
  
"Saving myself for you, Sammy."  
  
"Jesus Christ." Sam presses against Dean and Dean can feel his brother's cock riding against his ass. "You've never?"  
  
"Uh-uh." Though Dean has every intention to change that right now. He goes to pull down his jeans, but Sam's hands come to cover his and slowly, softly pull them away.  
  
"Not here then," Sam says.  
  
" _Sam_ ," Dean near whines. "Come on, man. You can't leave me like this."  
  
He almost stops at " _you can't leave me"_ , but catches himself in time. Sam's free to leave the moment he fucks Dean hard and deep. Rough enough to hurt and remember for a long, long time.  
  
"Not gonna," Sam says. Dean thinks he only heard the first part, anyway. "I wanna go back to your room."  
  
Sam has to physically push him for Dean to walk toward the Impala. He's thrumming, body pulled so taunt he's sure he'll snap or shatter at any moment. In the car, on the highway, Sam has a hand on Dean's thigh and his fingers are slowly prodding. Dean wants to tell him to quit it or he's going to total the car, but he can't bring himself to reject any touch from Sam. It could be gone tomorrow.  
  
They make it back to the motel parking lot in one piece and Dean gets the door unlocked with shaking fingers and Sam's hands twisted in his shirt. He doesn't stop touching for a second and they tumble into the room, Dean tripping over his brother's huge feet and bumping into a cabinet. He hardly even notices, but there might be a bruise there tomorrow to join the three hickeys placed by Sam last night.  
  
"Bed," Sam says. Commands, Dean decides as he walks backwards and drops down onto the creaky mattress.  
  
When Sam joins him it bounces, and the centre sinks all the way down onto its wood frame. Yeah, Sam's definitely grown. Filled out, too, with his shoulders able to keep Dean from moving. But his mouth's still the same as it swipes over every piece of exposed skin. They could be there for hours just doing that, until Dean's cock is back to straining and his skin feels cool in the draft coming from the nearby window.  
  
"Come on, Sam," he says. He can't stand it anymore. Sam wouldn't fuck him in the alley, but he has to do it here.  _Has to_. Before Jess comes back into the picture.  
  
"Shh," Sam says softly. "I'll fuck you, that's a promise."  
  
Sam's mouth drops back to Dean's neck and treks a wet path all the way down.  
  
"Please," Dean finds himself still begging. In the back of his mind, he's still so afraid that Sam will have to go back to Jess when they're in the middle of things. "Please."  
  
"Soon."  
  
Sam's fingers tease at the waistband of Dean's jeans, one dipping in and circling the head of his cock. Dean arches up at the focused sensation and is rewarded with a grin from his little brother. Sam pulls Dean's jeans down with his free hand and replaces his finger with his mouth. Dean has to squeeze his eyes shut and mentally tell himself  _no_ to stop from coming just at that. He has no idea how he's going to last until Sam's dick is inside him.  
  
"Not gonna come yet," Sam says as he pulls his mouth off. He runs his tongue across the head and jerks Dean's shaft with short, sharp movements. "Are you, Dean?"  
  
Dean shakes his head and bites his lip. Not gonna come until Sam is inside. The final thing he needs until Sam leaves him forever. He can recreate it forever and ever. He just needs Sam to do it first, to make the image a reality.  
  
Sam presses open-mouthed kisses down the length of Dean's cock, back up again, and Dean's eyes snap closed, his breathing dropping heavier. He has a decent refractory period; he can come now and get it up again in time to be fucked. Dean reaches out and cards a hand through Sam's hair and lets his hips slowly push up, fucking his brother's mouth. He goes to look, to  _come_ , when Sam's mouth backs off and Dean bites back a whine as he opens his eyes again.  
  
"Lube still in your bag?" Sam asks.  
  
Heat pools into Dean's stomach and he gives a tight nod, watching as Sam gets off the bed and walks stark-naked over to the duffel. They've seen each other naked dozens of times, but this is the first time after the turn in their relationship that Dean's allowed to stare. At how his brother's grown up and out and he's not so little anymore, and Dean isn't sure if he likes it or not. Sam turns back from his rifling with a triumphant grin and a bottle wrapped in his right hand. It's never been opened. Dean's been waiting.  
  
Sam gets back on the bed and kisses Dean harder and deeper than before. Dean hears the snap of a bottle opening and then Sam's fingers pressing against him. Teasing, more than anything.  
  
Dean pulls away from the kiss but presses his forehead against Sam's. "Please. We don't have forever."  
  
As close as he is to his brother — almost going cross-eyed from the angle — he seems something painful flicker through Sam's eyes and remembers the conversation from the morning. If Dean could, he'd give Sam forever. It's not Dean who's closing that door. Still.  
  
"Sammy," he says. "Get moving. I've been waiting for you."  
  
All that hurt and pain seems to evaporate, at least for now, and Sam's lube-slick finger pushes into Dean. "We have all night."  
  
Dean wants to ask what excuse Sam made up for Jess this time to let it happen, but Sam presses another finger into him, twists it up, and every thought except what's happening here and now is gone.  
  
"Just  _do it_ ," Dean says as fucks down onto Sam's fingers. He would've been perfectly happy with getting fucked in that alleyway. It's Sam who wants to drag the whole thing out, and Dean's just waiting. Waiting for Sam to leave again.  
  
If Sam hears his begging, he opts to ignore it. His fingers move in the same, steady pace of twisting and fucking. He adds a third and Dean's back to being reduced to sounds without words, except with the intersected " _fuck, fuck_ " he manages to get out and the one " _fuck me_ " which is what he's really looking for.  
  
Finally, after an eternity, Sam's pulls back out. "Condom?"  
  
Dean shakes his head and holds Sam's arm, trying to bring him closer. With the lack of Sam's, he feels empty.  
  
"You don't have any? We can't—"  
  
"No." Dean cuts him off. "I do. But...I've been checked. It's okay."  
  
Sam's searching his face, but Dean knows he'll believe him. Sam can read when he's lying, when he's telling the truth. Dean would never put his brother at risk of anything, much less something like this.  
  
"Okay," Sam says. He's nodding along. "Okay. Okay."  
  
Dean practically sinks into the bed with relief, but still focuses every piece of attention on Sam. Sam who's sliding more of the lube over his own cock until it's glistening and Dean's mouth feels just as wet.  
  
Sam asks with his eyes, wide and so damn searching that Dean feels more vulnerable from  _that_ than he does from being naked. He manages a nod and Sam gives a smile that seriously sucks in the happiness or reassurance department. But Dean still knows it's okay.  
  
"Sam," Dean says. Once. Low and solid and meaning more than just that.  _Come on, you can, I want you_. Everything he'd say if he weren't so damn stubborn and still thinking about Jess.  
  
When Sam presses the tip of his cock into Dean, there's the same burn and Dean's thankful for it. More memory fodder if he can find a guy with a cock as big as his brother's. Sam keeps up with the same slowness of the night, sliding in fraction by fraction until Dean's ready to pull him all the way inside. He wants as many sensations as he can possibly feel. He wants to never forget  _this_ because his little brother's going to walk down the aisle and leave Dean all alone.  
  
"Sammy," Dean whines. His legs wrap around his brother's and manage to draw him in further. More burning, but it's starting to dissipate with every passing moment.  
  
"Dean," Sam murmurs. He drops his body down so their touching from chest all the way down. He nips behind Dean's ear. "Brother."  
  
_Yeah. Brother._  That's why Sam's running away from this. Dean's pulls on Sam's legs become stronger, more purposeful, and soon Sam gets the memo that he's not going to hurt Dean. He pushes the rest of the way him.  
  
" _Fuck_ ," Sam says, and the word travels through Dean, all the way to his aching cock that's trapped against Sam's stomach. He doesn't let himself move, doesn't let it be over sooner than it absolutely has to. Even Sam's movements have slowed again, but Dean's okay with slow now.  
  
"I want to hear you," Dean says, right up against Sam's ear. He has since the first night, dreamt about hearing Sam, and right now all his dreams seem to be coming true. Dean has no idea what he's done in life to deserve this, but he's not letting go. "Sam. I want to hear you."  
  
Sam groans and follows it up with another " _fuck_ ". Nothing too loud, nothing that resembles a porn star impersonation, but enough that Dean's hips start working on their own accord to get some more friction on his cock. He pushes down, Sam pushes up, and the connection sends a rush through Dean.  
  
"Holy  _shit_ ," Dean says. "Do that again."  
  
So Sam does. Again and again, cock stroking over Dean's prostate and leaving him writhing on the bed. All the while Sam doesn't let up with his litany of words by Dean's ear. His " _god_ " and " _perfect_ " and " _so tight_ ". Dean's cock is leaking between them, and he can't stand to hold out any longer. He reaches down to the nearly non-existent space between them, but Sam catches his wrist and holds it above the pillow.  
  
"Let me," he says. It's more breath than voice.  
  
Dean does, of course he does. Sam sits up and the draft from the window comes even colder on Dean's sweat-coated chest. Not that he has time to even think about that when Sam's fist closes around his cock and his hips snap in time to the strokes. With that, Dean can't hold out any longer and comes with a shout of Sam's name that all the motel neighbours for at least ten doors down have to have heard. Sam's own orgasm is quieter, just Dean's name said into the crook of his neck. It sounds almost like the first time, and Dean realises then that it's what he wants more than anything loud.  
  
They fall asleep like the last time, though Dean stays awake longer to listen to Sam's steady breathing and turns to watch him. Jess gets to sleep next to this. Every night forever. Dean shifts closer to his brother, turns back around, and falls asleep with Sam's chest firmly pressed against his back.  
  
\---

They keep it up for weeks.  
  
Eventually Dad's calls stops and Dean's guilt leaves, though he does find a small haunting in Oakland. He mentions it offhand to Sam and is met with his brother walking from the motel room and slamming the door behind him. Dean does his own research, salts and burns the body of Luke Peterson who was killed in Jack London Square. Sam doesn't ask about it when he comes back two days later, but Dean sees him side-eyeing the newspaper article. Dean decides to let it rest.  
  
Dean sees Jess again, and he knows it's out of spite. He goes to the house, says he's back from Nebraska, and ignores the glare he receives from Sam. It's easier to hide what's going on if Jess has no idea Dean's in town, but Dean wants her to know. A part of Dean still wants to have Sam just to himself.  
  
"So you'll definitely be available as best man?"  
  
How can Dean say no to her shining eyes and wide grin? More than that, how could he say no to Sam's ice-cold glare and sour expression?  
  
"I wouldn't miss my brother's wedding for the world," he says with more smirk than smile.  
  
When Sam comes to see him that night, he's rough and silent. Dean opens the door and is immediately pinned behind it, Sam's mouth hot and ready against his. Sam yanks Dean's jeans down, shuffles out of his own, and only takes enough time to press two lube-coated fingers into Dean, working him open. When Sam's cock enters him, Dean presses his face into his arm and rides it out, bucking back into Sam and relishing in the fact he gets to keep this. Even if Sam is getting married, even if Sam is pissed at him. Sam's hand finds his cock, works him hard and fast through a shuddering orgasm.  
  
A few minutes later he's gone and Dean falls back onto the bed, head in hands.  
  
\---

 

  
Sam doesn't come back for a few days. After two, Dean has the same dreams he did for the months following Sam's running away to Stanford. Ones where Sam is burning on the ceiling like their mom — or at least the way Dean's mind has drawn together images, based on Dad's journal and drunken ramblings. He wakes up covered in sweat, breathing hard, and can't stop himself from grabbing his phone and sending Sam a message:  _R U OK?_

The response is almost immediate:  _Yeah. Why wouldn't I be? Go to sleep._

Dean looks over at the clock radio. Two am. He sends back:  _Why_ _aren't you?_

 _Studying. College._

 _With Jess?_ He presses send with force, then regrets being so petty. That's the whole reason Sam hasn't seen him lately.

 _No._

Dean decides to let sleeping dogs lie and puts his phone back on the bedside table. It lights back up immediately.

 _Do you want to see me?_

 _Yeah_. He regrets sending that one more than the question. If Sam's just setting him up to be a jerk...Well, Dean might deserve it, but that's beyond the point. His phone lights up again.

 _Be there in 10._

Dean knows it's a longer walk than that, and he hadn't seen any car in Sam's driveway. Dean messages:  _I'll come get you_.

He doesn't get a response and is tempted to grab his keys and go for a late-night drive anyway. Then again, maybe Sam's just fallen asleep. Dean sits back on his bed. He won't go back to sleep, not after that nightmare. And he'd just started getting a normal, five-hours-a-night of sleep since being in California. That was the ideal for him.

There's a knock at his door. It's followed by a soft, "Dean. It's me."

So he didn't fall asleep. Dean pads along the crusty carpeted floor and slides off the security chain. Yeah, it's Sam standing there. His hair is windblown and his face is washed in red.

"Did you  _run_ here?" Dean asks.

"No." Sam steps inside and drops his jacket. "Friend drove me."

Dean doesn't believe him for a second, but Sam's here and not dead or bleeding out in gutter somewhere, so Dean's not going to keep pushing. He shuts the door, cups Sam's jaw, and kisses him.

Dean's beyond caring about the moral implications of this. It's a big, gay incest event anyway. Might as well add infidelity into the mix for no extra charge.

"Hey." Sam takes hold of Dean's shoulder and pushes a space between them.

All Dean can think is that this is it. Sam finally telling him goodbye again, this time for good. Not that Dean didn't ask for it. He made Sam choose.

"You want me to leave," Dean says to save himself from having to hear worse words from his brother's mouth.

"What?" Sam's face twists. "No. Why would I want that?"

"You don't..." Dean shakes his head. Even if Sam's not ready to say it yet, he will. Soon. Sam's always been too much of an upstanding citizen to become a grade-A cheater.

"Of course I don't." Sam's arm slides around Dean's waist and brings him in closer. He sighs. "I just..."

"You just what?"  _You just want me to disappear? You just want to have both and keep lying to the woman you're going to dedicate your life to?_ It doesn't matter. Dean's not biting. He pulls out of Sam's hold and crosses his arms.

"I love Jessica," Sam says.

Dean doesn't internally cringe at that. No way. "All right," he says instead. "Then what are you doing here?"

"You're my brother." The way Sam says it makes it sound as though that's only thing that could ever matter. In any other circumstances, Dean might agree. But not now. Not this time.

"That's the same thing you said the night you left for Stanford." Dean's blowing low and he doesn't care. "One of the last things you said to me, actually."

Sam's face crumples and Dean almost regrets saying that. Almost.

"So what else are you going to tell me now, huh?" Dean asks. Dean's voice drops and he runs a hand over his brow. "I don't even know why I'm still here."

"Yes you do." Sam grabs one of Dean's arms and forces it apart from the other. "You bought that paper in Palo Alto. You didn't just stumble on it. You came looking for me before, didn't you?"

Dean says nothing. He knows his face gives it away.

"I asked you to come with me, Dean." By now Sam's definitely more composed than Dean. "You can throw everything I've said back in my face, but I know you haven't forgotten."

"You also said—"

"I don't care!" Sam takes a step closer. "I wanted you here, with me. I wanted normal and I wanted to give  _you_ normal."

"Normal?" Dean's lost the will to keep himself composed. His voice rises. "You and your fucking  _normal_. You were never a freak, Sam. That crap was all up in your head."

"Dean." Sam's pleading now, and the tone makes Dean's stomach tie up in knots. "You're the only one who gets it. You  _can't_ say you don't. You  _can't_."

No, he can't. Because Sam's right and he does remember that conversation. He remembers playing it around in his mind and almost being ready to go through with it. Until he looked at Dad pooling over a table covered in newspaper articles, trying to find out what slaughtered three children in a small town, and Dean knew that's where he was needed. Sam could look after himself.

Dean sighs. "Come here."

Sam does. He crumples up against Dean like he did as a kid, arms sliding around Dean's shoulders and fingerings clinging to the fabric of his shirt. When they  _were_ kids, Dean had no idea what to do with overly affectionate little brother. But things are different enough now. He pulls Sam closer, arms tightening until he's sure he's restricting Sam's lungs. Though if he is, Sam's making no protest.

"You should've come with me," Sam says into Dean's neck. He pulls back suddenly; not that he can go far with Dean's iron-type grip. "Why didn't you?"

"It's complicated," Dean tells him. He doesn't want to think about it. If he does he just regrets. Or thinks he does — or  _should_. It's so fucking messed up in his mind that he can't think straight.

"I'll understand."

Yeah. He probably would. He'd at least have a better shot than anyone else. Dean tried explaining it to Cassie — though not in as many words and leaving out the whole part about loving his brother's cock — but she didn't get it. The only other person he's close to is Dad, and his ability to understand is even further away. Even with the knowledge of monsters. Sam's the only one whose left. He's the only one whose ever really cared.

Dean drops his hold but Sam's still wrapped around his shoulders, eyes still searching Dean's. "Tell me," Sam says quietly.

"Tell you what? It doesn't matter what I say now."

"Yes it does." Sam's fingers are clenching, bunching up Dean's shirt and bringing him closer. More begging, more pleading.

"Sammy," Dean says. "Why are you marrying her?"

Sam's brow creases, his clenching momentarily letting up. Like he hasn't even considered this until Dean threw the question up in the air.

"If things...were different." Dean's cringing inside as he keeps talking, can't shut himself up. "Would you be with her?"

No answer. Sam kisses Dean instead, breath ragged and choked. Dean slows it as he finds the answers in Sam's touch:  _Yes_. That much is obvious. All of this is Dean's fault and Sam just found someone else to love him. That's not a bad thing. Dean shouldn't let that be a bad thing. But it hurts. It hurts so fucking much Dean's chest is constricting and he's finding it just as hard to breathe as Sam sounds. But he doesn't let up when the breathe is gone; keeps kissing and kissing Sam as he tries to guide them toward the bed.

"Lie down," Sam says when they do reach it and when he has to force them apart just for the sake of self preservation.

Sliding back toward the headboard, Dean goes with him. His mouth catches Sam's ever few movements. Sam's breathing still isn't back to normal, but his eyes and dry and that's something. Something.

"It doesn't matter," Dean says, though he has no idea what he means. He doesn't know if it's about Jess or Stanford or just this whole fucking thing they've got going. "It's okay."

Sam's hands are still clinging to him, trying to lift Dean's shirt, and Dean tugs his fingers away one by one until Sam stops fighting and lies back. It's Dean's turn to have some control over this. Finally. After everything. His turn to be slow, lifting Sam's shirt and pressing kisses down his body, back up, down again when Sam's stomach muscles clench and his cock is tenting up in his jeans. Sam makes a whimpering sound he doesn't even try to conceal, and Dean closes his eyes so it doesn't hurt. Sam is muscle memory by now, anyway. Dean could map him out with only one of his five senses if he had to.

"Dean, please." Sam rolls his hips up.

 _Okay. Okay._ Dean can't talk; it's like his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth and his throat has stopped working. He opens his eyes again and looks down to see the outline of Sam's cock through the denim. When he breathes, wet and hot over the shape, Sam sucks in a breath that might also include the word "Jesus", but it's too tangled and caught to really be intelligible. Dean does it again, adds in a lick of his tongue that scratches and leaves a weird after taste. Doesn't matter.

"I'm sorry," Sam says. He's understandable now, voice clear if not broken.

 _Shut up, Sam_. That's what he wants to say.  _Shut the fuck up, stop being a self-deprecating asshat_. But he doesn't. "It's okay," he does say, and now he knows what he means. "Here now."

Dean pops the button of Sam's jeans and starts to tug at the zipper. Sam helps by lifting up and letting Dean strip him bare. All Dean ever wanted for longer than could ever be considered decent — or that Dean could ever admit. Sam's still his little brother, even if his cock is sticking out hard from Dean's touch and his eyes are hooded over, bottom lip caught between his teeth. His cock is already slick, leaking precome even as Dean watches.

"Christ," Dean says. He can't help it.

Sam smiles and reaches out, taking hold of Dean's wrist and bringing his hand to his cock. Dean strokes once. When he leans over and takes Sam in his mouth, he's greeted with the response of his brother arching up into him. Dean uses one hand to hold him still, the other to stroke the length of Sam's cock he can't reach. Slows his movements, doesn't want Sam to come yet.

" _Dean_ ," Sam practically whines. Trying to move his hips but Dean keeps a steady hold. "Please."

Turn of tables, and Dean's ashamed to admit that he likes hearing Sam beg. He wants Sam to be after him, because Dean can't stand the feeling of waiting for his brother to just up and leave again. Inevitable. Always turning in his mind.

"Soon," Dean tells him, remembering Sam's words from that first time.

He touches his mouth to Sam's thighs. Swirls his tongue when the response is a soft sigh and Sam's legs slacken, spreading wide. So this is what they have, and if Dean thought he was giving Sam an ultimatum he was completely wrong. Dean is going to stick around. Of course he is. At this point, Sam's the only thing he's got left.

Dean's mouth goes back to Sam's cock and licks a wet strip from tip down to base, and he keeps going lower. Listening to Sam when he gasps and pushes Dean's tongue further inside, but he doesn't make Dean stop. If anything, he's asking for more. His hands falling on Dean's shoulders and he is making the most interesting variety of sounds from deep in his throat. Maybe if Dean does enough of this, he can keep Sam from himself. Even if he couldn't stay with Sam from the beginning.

"Dean." Sam must have been saying his name a few times before Dean actually hears. Which isn't all that surprising when he's murmuring it, sighing it. Soft and with no rhythm. It's not a plead anymore. Sam's just saying it. "Dean. You can fuck me."

He doesn't want to do that. Not now. Dean moves back to Sam's cock and works him through an orgasm, the warm and salty residue settling on his tongue for a long time after.

\---

  
Sam stays that night.

That whole night.

Dean watches him sleep in a way he refuses to consider creepy, telling himself it's just like they're kids again and he has to watch over his little brother. Sam sleeps with slow, shallow breaths and never looks completely at rest. It's unnerving, so Dean lies down and keeps his hand flat on Sam's chest to make sure the movements keep going.

Dean keeps watching Sam even as the numbers click over into the early morning and the sun eventually begins to rise, the smallest rays coming through the battered curtain and lighting the room with slivers of a pale glow.

Sam stirs and rolls onto his side, face pressing into the crook of Dean's neck and Dean freezes. Stays right where he is. He thinks that it could  _be_ like this— as cheesy and corny as the whole set-up is. It's still something Dean has imagined and gripped onto with every good vibes thought in his mind. He gets to wake up with Sam. Alive, well,  _together_.

  
"Hey," Dean says, breaking the silence. He never can just take something for granted, can he?

Sam gives long, drawn out yawn before responding. "Morning."

"Sleep well?"

"Mmm." Sam presses in closer. One hand finds the skin between Dean's ribs and hip, rubbing circles with his thumb. "You didn't sleep."

"I never sleep."

"No," Sam says. He drops a kiss to Dean's jaw. "I suppose you don't."

Silence stretches out and, for once, Dean lets it. He focuses on Sam's skin on his, on the finger still skirting over one patch of flesh. It's nice. All of it. All of what could have been but isn't, and might never be again. He runs a hand through Sam's hair and urges his face up so they can see eye to eye.

"Why are you marrying her, Sammy?" Dean tries to pull the answer out of his brother's mind through his eyes as he asks.

Sam's gaze drops. "I already told you. I lo—"

"No." Dean shakes his head. "I mean, yeah — you might love her. But mostly you just wanted normal, right?" He touches a finger to Sam's temple, tapping lightly. "All messed up up there."

"Normal's overrated." Sam doesn't sound very confident and his eyes as still looking downward.

Dean slides his fingers back into Sam's soft hair and he lets him lie back with his head settled on Dean's chest. "It's okay to want normal. I think that's the only thing you ever  _did_ want as a kid. Normal home, normal school, normal fucking clothes."

Sam grins. "Kids don't wear plaid."

Smiling despite himself, Dean says, "The cool ones do."

"You were cool. I was dorky."

"Look where it got you."

The smile fades and Dean can't bring it back. He should be happy for Sam, he knows that, but being happy for Sam means giving up and letting him go. Dean's too selfish to let that happen. At least until Sam makes him leave.

Sam's lips find his, hand cupping the side of Dean's face and holding him steady. There's the whole morning breath factor Dean isn't trying to take into account, but Sam is sleep-warm and  _Sam_ which more than makes up for anything else.

"Shouldn't you be getting home?" Dean asks when they stop for air. He always has to ruin everything.

"Yeah, I guess." Sam's words are reluctant. That's all there is to it. "You could—"

Dean's shaking his head before the words are even out. "Told you and your girl I'd be at your wedding. I got no reason to hang around everyday."

"You're my brother."

"Yeah," Dean agrees, and he does attempt to smile. "But this? Brothers don't do this."

"We're Winchesters."

Dean's able to quirk a lip at that. "Doesn't make it more fitting."

"We're Sam and Dean?" Sam's eyes are soft and almost pleading. Dean knows what he's doing.

"Okay," Dean says eventually. "We'll go with that."

\---

  
Dean stays in bed while Sam gets dressed, seated up against two pillows and the sheets set low on his waist. Lazy now. Lazy  _and_ selfish. Dean doesn't have many desirable traits left and he's okay with that. Mostly.

"I want to ask you something," Sam says once he's in a shirt and jeans again, hair brushed and neat — well, neat for Sam — and hesitating at the room door.

"Shoot."

"Answer me honestly."

Dean spreads his arms. Open and welcoming, or so he hopes at least. "Sure."

"Why did you really come here? To California?"

"Told you," Dean says. "I wanted to see you."

Sam just keeps pressing. "Something brought you here. You told me you'd be honest."

Yeah, he did. Dean drops his arms onto the bed, and they make a hollow thump upon connection with the mattress. He squares up his brother. There's no point lying.

"Omens," Dean simply says.

Sam's face falls. "Like...?"

"Yeah. Like demons," Dean finishes. "Storms and weird electrical disturbances. But they're gone now. I'm sticking around for you."

That's true. There hasn't been so much as a clap of thunder or a messed up digital clock. It's like they saw a hunter and went running. Good riddance. Dean's too tired to keep hunting while also dealing with everything else right now.

"Did you kill it?" Sam asks.

"No. It just up and left."

"Demons don't just disappear, Dean."

Not exactly the reaction Dean was hoping for.

Sam keeps going. "So there's a demon running around Stanford? Is that what you're saying?"

"No," Dean says slowly. He knows Sam's going to pick it up as being patronising. He doesn't care. "I'm saying there were some signs of demon activity in Palo Alto, but there haven't been any pretty much since I got here."

"How do you know?"

Now he's just acting crazy. "Uh, a little thing called  _research_. You were resident geek-boy; you tell me how you looked for demons."

Sam scoffs and turns from him, fingers wrapping around the doorknob.  _Don't go_ , is the first thing that pops into Dean's head, and he hates himself for it. He's pathetic for wanting someone this month, but his heart feels heavy when Sam leaves and even breathing becomes painful. He can't hunt it away and he can't drink it away. The feeling's new and he wants nothing to do with it if he can't have Sam as a permanent fixture in his life again.

"We could get married," Dean says.  _Well, hello brain._  That came out of nowhere. His mouth just keeps going. "In Canada it's legal, yeah?"

"Dean." Sam says. He turns back from the door. His mouth opens and closes a few times, his eyes widen then narrow. Finally he seems to think of something to say. "Brothers  _can't_ —"

"Not  _brothers_ ," Dean insists. He gets out of bed and is only half aware that he's still naked, which must look pretty freaking weird to Sam considering how serious he's trying to be. "Two dudes. We have enough fake IDs, take your pick of names."

"How is getting  _married_ " —he stumbles over the word— "going to fix anything?"

"Marriage is normal," Dean offers. Sam says nothing and it dawns on Dean that, even if he offers this, it might not all turn out in his favour. He clears his throat and makes sure there's no emotion clouding his words. "Do you want Jess or do you want normal?"

"I love Jess," Sam says, and he leaves before Dean can stop him.

\---

  
Dean kills two demons in Sacramento. Neither of them talk. Dean does get a tidbit about  _end of the world_ from one of them, but demons are always talking about their king and saviour. It doesn't mean anything new. The thing in Palo Alto was a fluke, nothing more than that. Dean wanted an excuse to see his brother and he found out.

Although, at this point, Dean's not sure if it was worth it — Sam's been ignoring his calls and messages. If Dean were desperate enough he might even go to the house, but he's not. He'll just wait it out. He's good at that.

  
Okay, so that's a lie. But no way is he facing Jessica again. That was awkward as hell the first couple of times, no need to try it over again. He'll wait it out. Ball's in Sam's park now.

Dean always hated watching sports without his brother.

\---

  
"Dean, where are you?"

It takes Dean a minute to register the voice. Another to realise it's coming through a phone he must have answered in a half-asleep state.

"Sammy?" he croaks out.

"Yeah." Sam with a gentle voice, very different to the last time Dean spoke to him.  _About marriage_. Jesus Christ, what was he thinking? "I went to your motel, they said you checked out last week."

"Yeah," Dean says. He sits up and runs a hand through his tousled hair. "I'm in Sacramento."

"Why are you all the way over there?"

"There was—" No. There's no point in making Sam worried. "Good club atmosphere. You should check it out, college boy."

Sam's quiet for a moment. "Gone back to hook ups?"

"What? No." Dean groans internally. Trust Sam to turn the safe lie into something  _worse_. Well, maybe. Almost. "No. Look, if you really want to know, I was on a hunt."

"A hunt?" Now Sam's voice has gained the hard, cold edge again. Chipped around the edges and throwing daggers.

"Yeah. Just a poltergeist. Nothing big." It's bizarre how a ghost can mean nothing in their world. "One of Dad's old friends called me and I went to check it out."

"No demons?" Sam asks. His voice is slowly melting.

"No demons," Dean says. No demons that would hurt his brother, and that was the important part. "Sammy, what time is it?"

There's no working clock in this room, not after he smashed it in a momentary state of anger. Or maybe it was grief. He was too drunk to tell at the time.

"About two." The icy edge is gone. He's back to being Sam all over and Dean relaxes back into his pillow. "Sorry. I just wanted to talk to you."

"That's all right." Truth is, Dean's okay with hearing from Sam at any moment. Rain, hail, shine. Morning, afternoon, night. It doesn't matter. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

It doesn't take a genius to figure out how guarded that word sounds. "Sammy."

"Really," Sam says. "I was just talking to Jess."

It also doesn't take a genius to know that a couple talking at three in the morning rarely results in happiness all around. "And?" Dean presses.

"And nothing."

Dean sighs and rolls onto his side, pressing the phone more firmly to his ear. "What do you wanna talk about then?"

On the other end of the line he hears Sam shift. "What are you doing?"

"It's two in the fucking morning." Dean stifles a yawn. "I  _was_  trying to sleep."

 _Trying_  being the crucial word because, like he already told Sam not that long ago, he doesn't sleep. Unless he's drunk and passed out, and even that hasn't always been foolproof lately. Two am means he managed about twenty minutes of shut-eye in the past three days.

"Yeah?" More shifting on Sam's part and Dean strains to hear exactly what he's doing. He swears to god, if Sam's in bed with Jess and trying some sort of over-the-phone breakup...

"Do you miss me?" Sam asks.

Just like that Dean's lost whatever advantage he had over Sam. He licks his lips and attempts otherwise. "I'm not that dependant, Sammy."

"Sure you're not."

Dean presses the phone even closer to his ear and it clicks, now, that Sam's pulling off his belt. That click of metal as the buckle comes undone and the solid  _thump_ as it falls to the ground.

"Do you miss me, Dean?"

They're the same words as before but that singular addition of  _Dean_ leaves Dean's chest aching and the blood in his body quickly rushing south. It's the sharp exhale of breath that really gives him away.

"I know you do." A pause, and Dean strains to hear more. Something, anything. He just always wants to know that his brother's there. "Come on."

 _Yeah_. Of course he does. Dean lets out a shaky breath and that's all Sam needs.

"Good." Sam's voice is warm sound through the phone and Dean's not even going to try and stop it. He reaches down and into his jeans, fingers brushing over his hardening cock.

"Okay, Sammy."

He falls.

\---

  
There are no other cases in California. Dean's checked. He doesn't call Dad and Dad doesn't call him. It's Dean and the wide open road until that road seems to narrow, a pin-prick in the sunset and he finds his way back to Palo Alto.

Sam, of course, is waiting for him.

In motel rooms and nightclub alleyways. Once they fuck in a bathroom, interrupted, but Sam growls and holds Dean steady until they're both spent and their breathing is broken and ragged.

It's not just from the sex.

Sam's wedding is fast approaching but they never speak about it. Sam tries once, his mouth ghosting down Dean's neck to suck a wet patch on the goosepimpled flesh.

"Jess and I—"

  
But Dean stops him with a ferocious pull back up and claims Sam's mouth again and again and again. By the time Sam's free he's an incoherant mess of post-orgasm anyway.

Dean goes into the bathroom and smashes his hand against the mirror. They don't pay for the damages.

\---

Often, Dean wonders how they got to be so fucked up.

\---

Dean is at the house again.

He doesn't know why he's here. Maybe it's to tell Jess he'll be at the wedding — or that he won't be. It's difficult to tell at this point. He's surviving on three hours sleep and nursing a beer-induced hangover that seems to have been there for days. The whole world tastes of cotton and looks like a misty haze. Jess, when she opens the door, is some kind of shining beacon. Dean hates that. She's meant to be the villan, not the good witch of the east.

"Dean!" She smiles with that flash of white teeth and her curls seem to bounce on their own accord. Sam lucked out here. Why did Dean have to come back and fuck it all up? "Come in — Sam should be back soon."

Dean does. He steps inside and knows he's going to shatter all of this happiness. Because clarity hits him like iced holy water on a demon and he knows— he  _knows_ — there is no way he can fake happy here anymore.

"I actually wanted to talk to you."

Jess's words pull Dean out of his thoughts, but he stares at her wordlessly all the same. Maybe he is finally getting old and the lack of sleep is catching up to him.

"Dean?"

He's standing in the kitchen and isn't sure how he got here.

"I...I think I know about you and Sam."

Now he's sitting and he can't even feel the chair. Did someone drug him? He doesn't think so. Life over the last couple of days hadn't consisted of any clubs, bars, or backrooms. No. This was just Dean under an  _emotional breakdown_ — the same wording Cassie had used back when Dean told her the truth.

"Know what?" He's saying the words and not even thinking about it. He's thinking about Cassie. About how her hair would tickle his shoulder as they lay in bed, or the way her smile actually managed to brighten up his whole world. And he's looking at Cassie, not at Jess, until Cassie's morphing and changing and becoming an even more familar face.

It was always going to be Sam.

Jess is still looking at him and saying something, but Dean can only see her lips form words he can't hear. Maybe he's drowning. Maybe this is what death feels like. Having a secret like  _this_ out in the open has to be a sure sentence to be placed six feet underground.

"Dean."

That word comes through and he stares at Jess like he's seeing her for the first time. She drops down and places her hand gently on his knee. It burns like fire, but it isn't unpleasant.

"It's okay. I told Sam it's okay." She pauses and takes in a shaky breath. Dean thinks he should say something but can't find the words. "I...maybe I always knew."

Just like that, Dean has to accept it as enough. He could try and lie his way out but something stops him. His breath in his throat and that heavy feeling in his chest. For once he will be selfish. For once he will take this.

"Yeah," he says with a thick, croaky voice.

It's enough.

\---

California holds too many memories.

The scorching sun and lap of the waves when they drive far too close to the beach (Dean always hated the beach; he's much more at home on the deserted open road).

So they leave.

Dad could be anywhere at this point — Dean threw out his phone the moment they passed the California-Nevada boarder. He tries to push Sam into hitting the craps tables, but to no dice.

It doesn't matter. Dean is where he wants to be and not making a pitstop in Vegas isn't about to change that. Sam, instead, takes hold of every local paper until he finds a missing person in Colorado.

"So you're in?" Dean asks, an attempt at nonchalant as he sips on a piss-weak coffee from a shady gas station.

"Hunting?"

Dean shrugs. "I could take you back to Stanford."

Sam shakes his head. His too-long fringe gets tossed around his eyes and Dean's chest  _aches_ at the sight alone. There is no way he could let Sam go again. Not after all this.

"I think this could be a hunt," Sam says. He clears his throat. "Wanna check it out?"

And there — right there — is how things begin again.


End file.
